


I would like to be a book

by Ektal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale loves leather, Books, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Jealous Crowley, Light Angst, M/M, Possessive Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ektal/pseuds/Ektal
Summary: After the near Apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowly start spending a lot of time together. But Aziraphale seems to be more interested in books than in a certain Demon. Crowley is NOT pleased.





	I would like to be a book

Humans never really understood what happened during those strange, chaotic, nearly apocalyptic days. Some didn't even remember them, like they've been put to sleep at one point and carried home, for the first thing they CAN remember is waking up in their own bed, with their phone, TV, family and friends saying that days have passed and that while they were sleeping like dead men – it had to be so, if fire, noise, earthquakes and aliens didn't wake them – impossible things had happened.

  
Nearly none of them knew exactly what all of that meant, but it seemed to provoke in the majority of the human race a kind of new revelation, one that was somewhat already known, but that only few – those that longed to become saints or had somehow lost their mind – had followed until then.

  
This revelation was: Why do it tomorrow if I can do it right now?

  
That's how cats started to put on weight, plates were immediately washed (which didn't make them exactly happier, because they loved a long bath and liked to stay in the water for hours if not days letting the dirt be washed away by all those tiny, little bubbles), gifts were bought, homework done, apologies made and accepted; and that's also how a lot of couples broke up, new wars were announced and gossip magazines became even more popular and interesting.

  
And that's how an Angel and a Demon found themselves in a little apartment in the center of London over a rarely sought out bookshop, one drinking wine half sprawled over a sofa, one arm on the back and both legs stretched out, the other examining and fixing an old book which had miraculously appeared in one of his bookcases after his home had been restored. After all, humanity was doing quite well by themselves and, until this new revelation did not go out of style, there was no need for them to tempt or dissuade anyone.

  
It had become kind of a habit for them to spend their free time together, which for days now had meant every single minute of every single hour of every single day – except when Crowley decided to get in his car and take a little tour. “I have to!” he would say “She can't stand there motionless for too long. I have to take her for a ride or she'll get sick.” To which Aziraphale would usually respond “She's not a dog, Crowley.” or “Don't you ever think about all those innocent insects killed splashing on your windshield?” To which Crowley would retort “I know. I hate dogs. I would never keep one.” or “Innocent? Tell that to my Bentley! Poor, poor car, always in need of a small miracle after all those annoying, little animals have had the insolence to cross the street without looking and splattering all their intestines all over her.” Aziraphale didn't exactly know how to answer, and so let him go for a couple of hours.

  
“Tell me, Angel, what's so interesting about all those books?” asked Crowley. He'd noticed Aziraphale had started to spend a lot more time licking his thumb and turning pages, or simply caressing over and over those ragged covers. He'd always been like that – well, at least since the book was invented – but Crowley started to feel kind of annoyed. Aziraphale seemed to prefer those rectangular objects to him. Which was nothing, he constantly reminded himself. It was not because he wanted all of the Angel's attention centered solely on him. What a stupid idea. And he was absolutely not jealous. Who in his right mind would be jealous of an object? Not him, certainly, absolutely not him.  
“Oh, you know, a lot of things.” answered Aziraphale, keeping on caressing the cover of the black book he picked up two hours before and didn't stop to look at for the two hours that had passed.

  
“Like what?” asked the Demon, somewhat irritated by that evasive answer.

  
“Well, they are very old, for example. Look at this one.” he said, standing up and going to one of the bookshelves to pick up a worn-out green book “I've had this since the fourteenth century. I had to restore it a bit, but it's more or less as it was back then.”

  
Crowley took the book from the Angel's hands and looked at the title.

  
“Hadn't it been destroyed in that fire? You know, the one in the Dominican Abbey, where all those abbots died, sinned and some of them were put on the stake? Yes, that had been a great success. I thought it was the only copy left.”

  
“A small miracle.” he confessed, his cheeks rosy and a slightly ashamed expression on his face “You know, it was a too important one to let it be destroyed like that.”

  
“And that's why humanity thinks it no longer exists, while you own the only copy instead?”

  
“It never seemed the right time to give it to them...” the Angel mumbled, which only made the Demon smile. But if anyone would've pointed out how much fondness there was in his expression, he would have made him disappear (it's better not knowing where).

  
“And look at this one!” Aziraphale said beaming, holding a papyrus roll in his right hand “I had it autographed by Sophocles himself! And what a story is behind this one...”

  
“I already know it, Angel. You've told me when we were having crepes in Paris.”

  
“Oh, you're right...” he said, putting it back in place, his smile fading a little bit.

  
(For those of you who don't know the story, let's just say it involved a mouse, a cat, a dog and a bunch of aliens. After obtaining the book, Aziraphale had tried to convince them to remain on Earth for a while and help humans develop, but they cited something they called the Prime Directive, which prevented them to interfere with primitive societies. Aziraphale did not agree with them. He would not have considered the human race primitive, rather similar to a child, playing with tin soldiers and declaring war to everything, from trees to animals and every object that they could easily grasp without standing up. At the time of our story Aziraphale thought humanity was rather more like a teenager, trying to find every excuse to be upset, make everything more complicated than it really was and declaring war to everyone who disagreed with them. He kinda hoped this period would end soon; in his opinion it had gone on for far too long.)

  
Talking about teenagers and their mood disorders, Crowley seemed to find himself in one, a very big one. A few minutes ago he felt cheerful and peaceful, while now, out of nowhere, guilt washed over him. It wasn't because Aziraphale seemed a bit sad for having lost the opportunity to tell his story. It was NOT. And it had nothing to do with books either. He was way older than them; he was there when books had not even been invented yet! But he was not in competition with books. He was NOT.  
To distract himself from those foolish thoughts and to wake up the Angel, who seemed to have fallen (not THAT kind of 'fallen', just a normal, without pain, figurative kind of 'fallen') in a heavy silence, Crowley spoke again.

  
“Is it only that? That they're old?”

  
That question seemed to do the job.

  
“Oh no, they're also very entertaining. They kept me company for many hours, especially during the night, when humans are so inclined to go to sleep. Really, what a waste of time.”

  
“It's not so bad, you know. You should try it. Makes it pass the time when you have nothing to do. Like when Humans invented WWI and WWII. Sure, I took the credit, but in truth I slept during most of those years. There was no need for a demonic intervention. Sometimes humans are so inventive all by themselves that it's a pity to poke your nose into their business.”

  
He'd been very proud of them those days. Really, an atomic bomb!? Machine of mass destruction? Honestly, not even Hell would have been so ingenious.

  
“Maybe one day I'll take your advice. For now I prefer to stay awake and read. You can't even imagine what stories they tell!”

  
Crowley had to keep reminding himself that he was not jealous of books. Which was starting to become really, really annoying to do. Because he was NOT. But better keep reminding himself, lest he could start believing it. One thing he was sure, though, was that he could be way more entertaining than books. He had stories that he'd never told the Angel and that he was sure would make him laugh, or at least smile, which was good anyway. It pleased him somewhat to be able to make him smile. And books... Books had no right to do it. They were simple objects, he was a Demon! They were no match to him.

  
He growled.

  
“Something the matter?” asked Aziraphale, returning to sit at his desk and starting again to caress the book he'd left there some time ago.

  
Crowley looked at him, then at the book and an expression of disgust formed on his face.

  
“Anything else that makes them interesting? Nothing so far had made them readable to me.”

  
“Well, yes, there is another thing. But I'm afraid you'll just mock me for it.” said Aziraphale, turning away from him, but not fast enough to cover the blush spreading on his face.

  
“Oh, come on. Now I'm even more curious!” said Crowley, laying both arms on the sofa's armrest and staring at the Angel's back.

  
Aziraphale took a little time to answer.

  
“They like books. Up there, I mean.” he said with an uncertain voice, pointing the ceiling.

  
“No, they don't. They don't even know what books are, 'up there'.” he said, mimicking the angel's tone and movement “And you don't know how to lie. Which is a good thing, given that Angels should not lie. Am I wrong?”

  
“You're a bad influence.” Aziraphale mumbled.

  
“Why, thank you, Angel.” he responded, smiling wide “Now, would you be so kind to tell me what this other thing is?”

  
“You won't laugh?” Aziraphale asked shyly, keeping his head down and his back very straight.

  
“I won't.” answered Crowley, in such a solemn way that the Angel found himself turning on the spot without even realizing, just to see what expression matched his words on the Demon's face. As it was, that face was serious and without a hint of deceit in it.

  
Aziraphale took the book he was caressing and went sitting on the sofa, next to the Demon who immediately set himself straight.

  
“This is my favourite one. Look, it's cover is made of black leather. It's like caressing...” he stopped himself.

  
“Caressing what?” prompted Crowley.

  
“I don't know exactly... I've never... It's just, I image it would be...” Aziraphale stumbled a few times. In the end he fell silent. His fingers kept touching its cover lightly, like it was made of glass and it could break if he pressed too hard. His face was so red he resembled the apple that Eve ate in the Garden of Eden. In that instant Crowley understood completely why she gave in to temptation.

  
“You've not been very clear, you know that?” asked Crowly a bit ironically.

  
“Is it not time for you to take your beloved Bentley out for a ride? Look, it's already past your usual time. She'll be upset if you make her wait even more.” the Angel said suddenly, standing up brusquely and placing the book on the desk again, before heading towards the stairs.

  
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” asked the Demon, now more than a bit annoyed.

  
“No, my dear, that's not it. I would keep y-” he stopped himself again “Don't let her wait, Crowley. She's a lady. It's not polite to keep a lady waiting.” he said instead.

  
“Oh, now I understand.” said Crowley raising his voice “You want some time all by yourself with your beloved books. You just had to say it, you know. It's not like we must spend all our time together. If you prefer to spend hours caressing that damn old, black, entertaining book instead of talking to me, I'll leave you to your hobby!” he nearly shouted, heading himself towards the stairs and passing by the Angel, who had stopped in his tracks and turned full face towards the Demon.

  
Books. He hated books! He'd always hated them and always will! Old, new; black, red, green, the color of the rainbow or a fluorescent pink; sad, dramatic, comic, adventurous, historical (really, how can they even pretend they are worth reading? They're all wrong!). Why can't they return to the old times, when books were thrown in the fire, giving off big flames and very hot flushes? Why people can't use them instead of wood to keep their heaters going? Why can't factories take the energy they need by incinerating books? Why can't humanity just STOP writing books!?

  
He had to have said some of his thoughts out loud, because Aziraphale grabbed his forearm before he could descend the stairs and blocked him.

  
“Why do you hate them so much?” he asked, with a pained expression on his face.

  
Crowley freed himself from the light touch.

  
“Why do you love them so much?” he asked in return. He showed teeth. “Why do you prefer them to me?”

  
Aziraphale's eyes went wide.

  
“It's not like that! It's not like that at all!” he said aghast.

  
“Tell me how it is, then!” said the Demon, grabbing the Angel by the lapels of his white jacket and pushing him against the nearest wall.

  
It wasn't that he didn't know why he was feeling this upset. He knew it well. He just didn't want to admit it. And he discovered a long time ago that it was less frustrating to feel anger than sadness.

  
“Crowley, please...” begged Aziraphale.

  
“You better talk now, Angel, or I'll just walk away from that door downstairs and no one, not even God, not even Satan, will know if ever we'll meet again.”

  
To make it clear, this was not what Crowley wanted. He would have liked to stay there for all the time the Angel would have given him, even just sprawling on the sofa while that pure creature (which was a bold statement to make, given the arrangement they had the last few centuries, the little imprecations that the Angel started putting here and there while talking, the frequent times he tried – though failing miserably – to tell some lies...) was sitting one meter from him worshiping (yes, there is no other word for it. Sorry, God.) his precious books. But there were things even a Demon could not tolerate. Being beaten by some books was an affront too big to take. And if someone tried to tell him that he'd never been put off when people preferred books to him, well, it was a damn good time to admit that, yes, Aziraphale may have had something to do with it. So what? He was a Demon with a body. He had a heart. He could damn FEEL something! So you can well go sod off somewhere else!

  
“Promise me you won't leave.” the Angel pleaded.

  
“Then tell me something worth staying for.”

  
Aziraphale lingered a little more, then lifted his chin to look the Demon right in the face.

  
“Can I at least...” he touched the Demon's glasses with both hands “If I really have to tell you this, I prefer to look you in the eyes. You know, this being our last conversation ever and all...”

  
Crowley gave a little nod and let the Angel take them off. Aziraphale laid them on a near table – he knew how much the Demon loved them and didn't want to risk crushing them in his grip because of nerves.

  
He took a deep breath and then, with absolute calm (at least, that's how he tried to be; which means he was everything but), he forcefully let out three words.

  
“I have to.”

  
Crowley waited a few seconds to see if the Angel had anything else to say. It was not the case. Instead, Aziraphale turned his face to the right, eyeing alternatively the bookshelves, the floor, the bottle of wine left unfinished near the sofa. The first thing Crowley wanted to do was to shake him and force him to go on, but when he saw the pained expression on the Angel's face he relented. It's true he wanted to be the only one to affect the Angel so much, but he rather hoped to be the one to bring a smile on those features (he really had to ask him some day what toothpaste he used, for every time the Angel smiled Crowley was thankful for the glasses he always wore: many times he risked being dazzled). He slightly opened his fists. He didn't have the strength to let him go completely for fear the Angel would vanish. Instead he used his softest voice – and if anyone will ever remind him that he tried to placate and comfort an Angel in that particular way, he'll send them in the same place he'd send the one who'd dare to see fondness on his face – and nearly whispered:

  
“It's you who wanted to look me in the eyes, Angel.”

  
Aziraphale looked in those yellow orbs and, seeing how soft they'd become, tried again. He felt he owed him.

  
“Do you remember... Do you remember that time you wore a leather jacket?”

  
Crowley tried to. It had to be some decades ago, when he tried that new type of motorcycle and had to wear something appropriate. Style's important!

  
“I thought it suited you.” confessed the Angel. He now wore a sheepish smile on his lips.

  
For how badly he wanted to understand, Crowley really could not see where the Angel was getting at.

  
“Well...” Aziraphale stumbled again “It started way before that, but... when I saw you that day...”

  
Crowley was having a lot of trouble standing there, immobile, so near to the Angel and not stick his teeth in that red, tempting apple. He was sure he was going to, whether the Angel finished saying what he wanted to or not. He started to think the Angel would make an excellent Demon, because he was temptation incarnated. He had limits!

  
“It's come to me that books... They remind me of you. They're old – not to say that you're old, mind you! I mean, you are more than six thousand years old but you look great! I mean it. And books are entertaining and... It's funny to read some of them and see where they did it wrong or spot your demonic intervention. And... I'm sorry. I really am. I know I've been neglecting you these last few days. I've been really inconsiderate and impolite. But I had to do something while you were here.” he was nearly crying by then. There weren't real drops scarring his face yet, but his eyes were lucid and his lips trembled imperceptibly. He started to open and close his hands. “It's that... It's that if I didn't caress the books, I would have... Their covers are made of leather, you see.”

  
“Yes, you said it many times today.”

  
“Oh, please, don't make me say it. I'm ashamed.”

  
“After all these years, you still haven't learned, have you? When you say things like this” Crowley approached the Angel, his lips near his left ear “it makes me want to know it even more.”

  
He felt more than see the Angel quiver.

  
Satan, or God, or both (yes, that would be better), please help me!

  
“If I didn't caress those books I'd have caressed you.” the Angel finally said. It took him all the strength out of him and he let himself go against the wall, looking down, his shoulders hunched “I know it will never happen, so I caress books because... they're kind of a substitute. They probably don't feel the same as you in those leather trousers and jacket, but... Imagination is really an incredible resource. Look at what Adam made looking at all those magazines! Not that I've his powers, that would be absurd, and I wouldn't even want to summon the kraken or make poor, Asian people dig tunnels under earth's surface – really, I'll have to ask him WHY. And why only Asian people? It's discrimination, don't you think? Think of all those people without a job and-”

  
The Angel stopped talking when he felt Crowley's hold on his lapels increase.

  
“Yes” Aziraphale said dejectedly “I know it's something you'll never want and that's why-”

  
This time it wasn't his fault if he stopped. It was Crowley's; his lips, to be more precise. How could Aziraphale keep on talking when the Demon decided out of nowhere to stick their lips together? Aziraphale tried to form some words, but in the end he had to give up. It was impossible to form any kind of coherent response and every single sound he emitted seemed to encourage the Demon even more. Not that the Angel had anything to complain.

  
Only when Crowley stopped his sweet ministrations and let his lips go, Aziraphale realized he had closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he noted the Demon had changed clothes. Always black, always tailored – which meant that the leather underlined too well the Demon's form.

  
“For an intelligent being, you can be very dumb sometimes.” said Crowley, grabbing the Angel's hands and putting them on his own jacket “That said, I've accepted it millennia ago. And just to be clear: if I ever see you caress another book like it's the most precious thing on earth, I'll rip it into pieces. You have all the leather you need now. You don't need them. You have ME.” he said the last sentence with a mixture of threat, promise and finality; plus a hint of fondness, which the Angel will point out many times in the future.

  
Aziraphale stroked the material under his fingers almost reverently and Crowley started to feel anger again thinking about how many times those hated books had the pleasure to feel those same fingers caress their covers. But it all went away when the Angel smiled, emanating all his joy and adoration.

  
“You don't have to fear, my dear. Now that I've touched the real thing, I could never go back to fantasy. There's no match.” he confessed shyly.

  
“Mmm... I'm glad to hear it.” Crowley said seductively “Now that we are on the same page-”

  
“Oh, we're still at the cover.” the Angel corrected him.

  
“You're right. How stupid of me. Well, let's say this then: Now that I've given you the book you so wanted, why don't you open it?”

  
Needless to say, Aziraphale did exactly that. Because it's not polite to refuse a gift (which he would NEVER have refused anyway, let's be clear) and because if you have a book it's only right that you get a taste of it (for pure curiosity – which he had in abundance at the moment).

  
Another thing which should be unnecessary to point out but that we'll do anyway because it made Crowley really happy and proud of himself, in the end he had his revenge. He'd been the one to be chosen. And he let Aziraphale do what he wanted right there, with all those books around them and even more downstairs. Let them see and let them hear!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta KaosCumberbatch


End file.
